


Fox Eyes

by TheTomatoWriter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, D&D inspired, Elemental Magic, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Female-Centric, Found Family, Gen, High Fantasy, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Pining, Queer Characters, Teenage Protagonists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTomatoWriter/pseuds/TheTomatoWriter
Summary: Once, nature was full of magic and elementals danced in between their world and the world of Loshea with ease. But no one has seen an elemental in years -- not since the evil god, Wyros, was sealed away in Trialar, the elemental realm. No one knows how to reach Trialar, and even if they did, it would be a fool's errand to even try.Enter three girls, all wilders bonded to nature spirits and descended from elementals. Promise is trying to recover a lost sprite for the dying man who raised her. Del hopes to free herself from her own sprite and its pesky habit of starting fires around her. It's not clear what Nissa wants, other than the pleasure of Del's company, but then nothing about Nissa is ever totally clear. What is certain is that they only have a few weeks, and that even from his prison, Wyros is still trying to tear Loshea apart to make it again in his image.(**This will not be a complete work. This is just the first three chapters of my original fiction as a sampler.**)
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Promise

The girl with the fox eyes had wandered away from home again. It would be a lie to say she was lost. She always knew where she was within Avanshe Forest. She knew how long it would take to return, the best path to get there, and all the wildflower brambles and mossy tree trunks along the way. So it wasn't that she _couldn't_ turn back; it was just that, for all her knowledge, her feet kept carrying her further, her eyes exploring ahead.

Cinquain often remarked that she should have named herself Wander. When she responded that she didn't name herself, he simply shrugged and said, "Whose fault is that?"

In Melimis Grove, not choosing her own name was almost the oddest thing about her. In fact, of everyone she knew, Zire was the only other person who kept the name he was born with. He was one of the reasons she decided to keep hers. The other was that she had grown up in the Grove, rather than stumbling upon it while escaping some sordid past, desperate for reinvention.

Truthfully, though, she liked the name she had — Promise. She liked the idea that someone looked at her as a baby and thought well of her...even if it was right before they abandoned her.

She had started the morning hunting a buck, maybe even an elk from the size of the tracks. An elk would last for months, although it would be impossible to carry back on her own. But it didn't matter, because when she finally caught up to it, it had already fallen prey to another hunter. The buck's legs and side were marred with scorch marks. It's neck was bitten so deeply that there was little of it left.

But the tracks the killer left were far more interesting. They looked almost feline, with double-lobed foot pads, but the sharp lines that jutted out from them look like talons — like a giant falcon. And then there was the faint trace of five lines running through the center of the tracks, matching the odd scorch marks on the buck.

It was the first time Promise has seen tracks like this, but not the first time she'd heard of a creature like this.

Three months before, the scouts came back to the Grove with a carcass that seemed to start out as a panther, but with uneven wings on its back and a too-long, five-pronged tail. The carcass was sticky with a viscous pale ooze and a heady stench that clung to Dart's clothes as she heaved it in front of Cinquain, but she wore her braggingest grin.

"Alright," she had called. "who wants to carve this up?"

Promise had noticed green scales through the ooze.

Cinquain decided to call it a mountain drake, though there were no mountains for hundreds of miles. Zire frowned and went back to the hut. He was quiet for the rest of the day, and the next time the scouts left, he stayed home. But like many things in their relationship, he never explained and Promise never asked, though not for lack of curiosity.

There had been reports of attacks in nearby cities. City dwellers thought they came from the forest, but the Grove knew better. They were encroaching on the forest, not moving out from it. The scouts had only ever seen them on the fringes, near town.

Which is why it stood out now to see one this far in. The Grove would want to know. The often muffled, sensible part of her thoughts suggested she go back and tell the others. Then Dart and the scouts would take care of it. Maybe she could even convince them to let them go with her.

Or maybe she could impress them all by doing it herself. She might not have been the hunter that Dart was, but everyone agreed Promise was hard to beat as a tracker. She had hoped by now they would have asked her to join them. It was clear enough that she wanted to be a scout, and nineteen was plenty old enough.

But sometimes it seemed she would never shake the shadow of the little girl, the only child of the Grove, the baby left in the woods by a mother who didn't want the headache.

She bent her knees slightly to quiet her movements as she stepped into the tracks. The musty smell from the morning's rain still clings to the air, and the damp made it easier to walk over dead leaves that would otherwise have crunched. It told her, too, that the tracks were recent. They hadn't been filled with water or washed away. She kept her eyes ahead, looking for a shift of movement through the trees, her right hand clutching the belly of her bow.

In this part of the forest, the trees were too dense to see the sun overhead. That was what she loved about it; deep enough to be buried in, she once said to Zire. Then she saw his concerned expression and took it back, realizing how dark it must have sounded. She hadn't meant it in the sense of dying, though. There was just something comforting in being completely enveloped in something so much more immense than herself.

With Avanshe Forest thinning, she was running out of places that held that feeling.

She lost track of time as she tracked, but finally, a bulk of deep green moved in her peripheral vision and she heard heavy huffing. She crouched as she turned. The mountain drake covered in bright green scales and almost beautiful in her strangeness — a little larger than a panther, but with pointed ears like a lynx. She was mostly covered in scales, but the ears were fuzzier, and Promise spotted tan fur along the underbelly.

But there was a wrongness, too. Tufts of fur that broke up the scales in odd places, wings jagged, almost broken. Even the bright green scales seemed almost surreal. Her tail was so long it dragged along the ground, leaving scorch marks behind.

Promise was so fascinated for a moment that the mountain drake almost wandered back out of sight. She shook herself out of it. Creatures like this had been attacking people in cities, could attack the Grove. She drew from her quiver, nocked her arrow, and waited. As the mountain drake moved into an opening between trees ahead, Promise's arrow flew out and sank into the shoulder of the mountain drake with a thump.

The mountain drake reared up and let out an unnatural, discordant yowl, as if the sound and the sight of it don't match. It flapped its wings, but didn't quite lift off the ground. Promise drew another arrow and prepared to shoot again, when the mountain drake's bright yellow lopsided eyes met hers.

She let the arrow go in surprise, and it only scraped the side of the beast. She backed up towards a nearby beech tree, but it was too sparse to climb and the mountain drake was faster than she looked. No sooner did Promise reach back for the tree trunk than she was knocked on the ground, pinned down by its sharp taloned paws.

Sharp stinging shot through her forearm where the talon had torn through the skin. The mountain drake's tail wrapped around her ankle, and she yelped from the heat. Her bow snapped somewhere below her. Promise tried to twist and kick, but the mountain drake pinned her too tightly.

There was nowhere to look but the mountain drake, and now it was impossible to escape how _pained_ she looked. Her face was set unevenly. The tufts of fur pushed through the scapes, rather than filling space where scales were not. The ooze and the smell were less obvious at a distance — she was less covered than the carcass Dart brought back. But it was there, like a thick sweat. It dripped onto Promise's face as the mountain drake made another broken noise that was probably meant to be a growl. Even up close, it sounded distant and strained. This close, the beast was pitiful. Then the mountain drake lowered her head and bared her fangs to strike, as if reminding Promise who was truly pitiful in this situation.

Promise squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for the kill. The mountain drake's hot, rank breath was encompassing. Then she heard a shrill squeal followed by another cry from the mountain drake as her weight shifted off.

When Promise opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the boar to her left, pawing the ground, green blood on his tusks. On the other side, the mountain drake was bowed and ready to spring, no longer focused on Promise.

It gave Promise a chance, but she had to be fast. She reached for the hunting sword at her side and struck at the mountain drake as it lunged. It was a clumsy jab, the fault of her hurt arm. The boar charged at the mountain drake again in the same moment, perfectly in tandem.

It wasn't enough. The mountain drake leapt back, hurt but alive. Then instead of lunging again, she keeps running. By the time Promise pulled herself to her feet, the beast was out of range.

She panted to catch her breath and then groaned, long and furious through gritted teeth, dropping the broken pieces of her bow in resignation. It was a pale birch bow, not the strongest wood, but her favorite. It had been her favorite one that she'd made, not that it mattered now. Some way to show the scouts that she could be taken seriously. Now there was a mountain drake running through the forest, and Promise had only served to make her scratched up and angry.

The boar who saved her life grunted at her side and flopped down. Now when she looked at him, she could see the blackened scorch marks from the tail running along his side. It wasn't deep, but probably hurt like hell. Her ankle still smarted, and she had leather boots to protect it.

She reached into the leather bag at her hip for some aloe and knelt down next to the boar. He squealed as she broke it off and rubbed the goo along the burns. "Hey, I'm trying to help you," she snapped.

He looked at her doubtfully and then huffed, an attitude that seemed fitting for the sort of animals that had a habit of following her around. For the past ten years, it had been a surly goose. Before that, a badger with a habit of biting anyone who got too close. Before that, a fox who had — according to Zire and the elders at the grove — curled up at her feet when she slept as a baby and bared his teeth at anyone who passed by.

All assholes and all oddly loyal in their way. She named them the same thing — the word for _friend_ in the secret language she and Zire used with each other.

She nudged at the boar. "Come on, Tavi. Let's go home and get you fixed up."

"Promise?"

She spun around, surprised and embarrassed to be discovered in this moment. Even worse when she realized who it was.

Catching his breath a few trees behind her was Oak — the only person close to her age at the Grove, and the most beautiful person she'd ever met. Promise wasn't known for her social graces, but around Oak, she was utterly useless.

That was why it took her a moment to recognize how frazzled he looked, doubled over, bracing his hands against his knees as he panted. Flyaways slipped out of his long, black ponytail. His warm brown eyes were wide. He had run...a long way. Maybe all the way from the Grove.

The usual social anxiety flew out of her head. "What happened?"

Tavi pulled himself to his feet and followed him. Oak took in the sight of her torn tunic and bloody arm. She pressed a hand to her injured arm and held it behind her back. "Don't worry about it. What's wrong?"

He took another deep breath. "The scouts...scouts were attacked."

She froze, and the forest seemed to freeze with her. "Mountain drake?"

It couldn't be the same one. It didn't make sense when this had happened just minutes ago, and the scouts moved out of the woods towards the cities. But still.

Oak shook his head. "People. I don't know. I left to find you as soon as they got back. Promise," he hesitated, and this time it wasn't to catch his breath. "It's Zire."

Part of her knew what he had been about to say, but hearing it still felt like a punch to the gut. "What?" Her voice sounded small, out of her grasp. "Is he...?" She couldn't finish the sentence. He couldn't be dead. Zire couldn't die.

"No," Oak said quickly. "But...it's bad. He wants to see you."

The words rattled in her ears, foreboding.

She was already moving, and now Oak had to make an effort to keep pace with her. Her ears were ringing, her head pounding, and soon she was running, heedless of the thorns and the mud and her own injuries. Tavi ran next to her as if he knew the way. She didn't care to read into it. All she cared about was getting home.

 _He'll be fine_ , she thought with the pounding of each boot against the muddy ground. _It's Zire. We live in a colony of_ druids. _He'll be fine, he'll be fine, he'll be fine._

When she reached the willow tree that marked Melimis Grove and the circle of huts beyond it, her lungs burned. She stopped, hacking for stinging breath as Oak halted behind her, stopping at a tree for support. It was quiet. Usually, Woad was out crafting or Rhine was singing to her plants to make them grow. And at least a few of the scouts milling about and talking. Now it seemed almost empty.

And then, from Cinquain's hut, "You stupid fuck." Dart's voice, deep caring under all the layers of anger, fear, and spite. "I'll never forgive you if you die, you know that?"

There was a muffled, quieter response and then Dart pushed through the leaves at the entrance with a huff. Her eyes landed on Promise for a moment before she grumbled, "Apparently, I've been kicked out."

"What happened?" Promise asked, running to her. "Oak said you were attacked, but…"

Dart's long braid had mostly come loose, her forehead was covered in a mixture of sweat and dirt, and there was a bandage on her arm. She was tense and furious. "We ran into some batshit cultists near the boundary. They were waving torches, saying they were going to burn the forest down for the glory of Wyros or something, and he —" she would have sounded annoyed if not for the choked noise in her throat and the vision of barely held back tears "—just fucking threw himself at them. At cultists with lit torches. Stupid."

That didn't sound right. Zire was brave, sure, and protective, but he wasn't reckless. Usually, he was giving Promise a hard time about her own impulsive tendencies.

"How is he?"

Dart clenched her jaw and nodded at the entrance. "You better go see."

Promise looked back to see Oak still a step behind her, the same helpless, worried expression. He opened his mouth as if to say or offer something and then closed it again and stepped back. She wasn't sure if she was grateful for that or wanted the company. She went inside alone anyway.

She saw Cinquain beside his own bed (he hardly ever used it), his hands were smudged with poultices, head bent low in work. Rhine hurried past her with herbs to a table on the other side of the hut where there was a mortar and pestle. Once ground, she brought them to Cinquain and ducked out again.

When she saw Zire, her heart clenched. For as long as she could remember, he had always seemed strong. It was almost unbearable to see him now. He was pale, his face pinched, eyes closed as Cinquain worked. One of his horns dangled from the side of his face at a horrible, unnatural angle, a bandage wrapping around his head where it should have been rooted. His chest rose and fell heavily.

Worst of all was the stench, one that she soon realized was burnt flesh. His shirt was open and his torso was largely bandaged, but some of the raw, red welts still peeked through. Cinquain pressed his hands against them, eyes closed, murmuring.

Zire opened his eyes as she approached and attempted a weak smile. "Took you long enough."

She swallowed hard. "Well, I heard you were making a big fuss, letting everyone think you were dying."

He moved as though he meant to laugh, but it escaped as more of a pained whimper. "Yeah, that's me."

She sat down next to him and took his hand in her own. Along the knuckles of his palm was a feather thin scar from too many fletchings without gloves. Promise had the same scar, though hers was surrounded by skin just a slight shade browner.

"Need to talk to you," he said softly, looking at her steadily through heavily lidded eyes.

She knew instantly what it was. And he wouldn't want to talk about that unless he really did think he was dying.

_No, no, no, no._

"You need to calm down and let Cinquain heal you," she said. "Talk after."

He either didn't hear her or didn't care. "I know you think I'm your father." Her hand tightened on his. He sighed. "I'm not. Wish I was…"

"Stop." Her head was reeling. He was right. She always assumed everyone knew he was her father and just didn't tell her. They looked alike in that way that was hard to pinpoint exactly — less a matter of hair and eye color and more a matter of facial expressions and bone structure. More than that, he was the only other person who was...odd, like her. His horns, her eyes.

But maybe she hadn't known so much as hoped. She didn't want to realize that now.

"It's okay," she said, pushing down a stronger reaction. "Just rest so you can heal."

"Promise." Cinquain's tone, usually lilting with amusement, was clear and authoritative in comparison to Zire's strained voice. "You need to listen to him. I'm doing what I can to keep him here, but it's best not to waste time."

Promise looked at Cinquain sharply. "What do you mean keep him here? You're supposed to be healing him."

"He can't," Zire murmured. "No one can."

She froze. "Come on, don't be stupid." Cinquain only nodded to confirm it.

"Lost my _jukaa_." Zire slipped into their language. _My spirit_.

"What does that mean?" She shook her head in confusion. "Who _were_ those cultists?"

"It's not who they were," Cinquain said. "It's who he is. And who you are."

"We're…" She stopped. She'd almost said human, but she knew that wasn't quite right. Promise didn't have much experience with the outside world, but she knew enough humans to know that they didn't often have horns or eyes like a fox.

"You're wilders," Cinquain said. "Descended from elementals, bonded to nature spirits. And Zire lost his connection to his sprite a long time ago."

Cinquain had told her all about elementals when she was a child. A fairytale of time's past when the magic of nature was full and abundant, and elementals could be found making mischief almost anywhere. "This isn't the time for a story."

"It's not." Zire looked at Cinquain. "Give us a minute?"

The elf lingered, uncertainly, but then he nodded and stepped back. "Of course. I'll be just outside."

As soon as Cinquain's hands left Zire, Zire gasped in pain. Promise gripped his hand. "Squeeze when it hurts." He closed his eyes and squeezed, but from the pained look on his face, she guessed he was holding back.

"I'm your uncle," he said softly. "My brother and I…our mother was an elemental. When I was born, there was…" He paused to suck in a breath and squeezed her hand again. "…a yew tree. Anywhere I went, the tree was there. But we severed." His lip twitched. "Sorry."

With her free hand, Promise out to run her fingers along the horn that was still attached, covered in a barklike surface rather than bone. She remembered when she declared, " _That's a yew bark_!" So proud of the knowledge she'd learned about trees. He had smiled in a way that was sadder than it was proud, and then he told her that yew was the best wood for making bows and showed her his own.

"How?"

He huffed out a laugh with difficulty. "Long story. Don't think I have time."

Bound to nature spirits, Cinquain had said. Even living among druids — two of whom were elven — it seemed hard to believe, but the idea of being severed from one felt even harder to believe. It must have hurt.

Her question choked its way out. "And you can't heal without it? Even with…I mean, the druids are using magic."

He didn't answer. Instead, he looked to the side of her. "You found Tavi again."

Promise looked down and saw Tavi leaning against her legs. She was so focused on Zire that she hadn't even noticed him. She also hadn't noticed the moment the cut on her arm or the burns at his side healed. Strange.

"Hold on to him this time," Zire said. "He's yours."

She looked at Tavi doubtfully. "This boar is my nature spirit?"

He smiled a little. "The boar, the goose, the badger...the fucking fox. All the same. Thought you knew. You gave them all the same name."

"I'm just not good at coming up with names," she mumbled, reddening.

Tavi snorted. _He might be able to understand me,_ she realized. But if Zire was right, Tavi wasn't a boar at all.

Yesterday, this might have been exciting. Now it hardly mattered if neither of them could help Zire.

"There has to be something," she pleaded.

"Maybe there is." He smiled, tired and unconvincing. Then he squeezed his eyes shut in a grimace. "If you find it, let me know."

She knew he didn't expect much, but his words triggered something. "Cinquain!"

Cinquain returned immediately, mouth set and his normally smooth face tight with worry. He must have expected the worst.

"How long can you keep him stable?" she asked.

He furrowed his brow. "A few weeks. Maybe more, maybe less. Much of it would depend on him. But there wouldn't be any point without hope of healing."

"What if there was hope?"

"Promise." Zire's hoarse voice drew her attention back to him. "What are you doing?"

"You said you lost it. Severed from it? You never said your sprite was dead, so it must be out there somewhere. If I can bring it back, if I can somehow find a way to reattach it, then maybe you can heal." She looked at Cinquain. "Is something like that even possible?"

He frowned. "I'm not sure. This is the first I've ever known a wilder to separate from his sprite."

"But it _could_ work," she pressed. "You don't know that it couldn't."

Cinquain gave her a look that reminded her he had at least a thousand years on her, before turning to Zire. "You would be in terrible pain, my friend," he warned. "I won't make that decision for you."

Zire said nothing at first, exhausted from pain and conversation. His fingers curled around Promise's thumb."I always tried to think of you as mine," he said, his voice thick.

"I am," she whispered, tears pricking at her eyes. It didn't matter if Zire was really her uncle, or if she was a wilding or whatever it was. Zire was the one who had been there, the one who had made her.

"I won't let you down," she plead. "Please just trust me."

His eyes closed and opened again as he let out a long sigh. "Find Edana." His voice was slowed and soft, drifting off to sleep. "She'll help you get to Trialar."

"Trialar?" Promise remembered the term from stories — the home of the elementals, a place outside the world of Loshea.

Zire's sprite wasn't just lost; it was in another world. "Wait, but who's Edana? How do I find her?"

"She's your mother," Zire mumbled, so quietly Promise almost didn't catch it.

She looked at Cinquain, who confirmed it with a solemn nod.

Before today, what Promise knew of her mother was this: she wandered into the woods heavily pregnant, and was taken in by Melimis Grove. She had her baby and she rested up. Then, as soon as she had recovered, she left and didn't bother to take the baby with her.

Never a name. Never a tie to…any of this.

Zire was asleep now, breathing easier. Promise brought his hand to her and pressed her lips to his knuckles before she let him go. "Thank you," she whispered to Cinquain. "Take care of him." Cinquain just took his place again, tending to Zire as Promise left the hut.

Dart was gone, probably into the woods to cool her head. Oak sat outside his hut, chipping away at a block of wood just for something to do with his hands. He looked up as soon as Promise reappeared, eyes full of questions, but he didn't ask, so she didn't say. She walked to the tree hut she shared with Zire and scrambled up the ladder.

The space was sparse: two mats, packs of belongings tossed off to the side, ivy vines creeping in through the window. Promise didn't need much. Food she could forage, and clothes could be washed. Then she thought of the broken bow. She could make a new one, but that would take time, and with only a few weeks to find her absentee mother and travel to another world, she wasn't keen to waste it.

She spied Zire's longbow resting against the wall. Hemlock must have returned it, since Dart would have been in no state to do so. The wood was a deep, sunny color and the belly had been lovingly carved over the years. Promise couldn't remember a time when he'd had another. He even allowed her to scrape the image of a bear into it once when she was thirteen, the image lumpy and clumsy compared to the skilled etchings of leaves and feathers that surrounded it.

She was too short for it, but she took it anyway. With that, she slung a pack over her shoulders and climbed back down to meet the disgruntled boar waiting below. "Let's go, Tavi."


	2. Nissa

The market was truly what put Gillamer on the map. People traveled from all over Astana, and even from Ostheather across the border, to buy or sell fine spun wool, sample golden bread and amber mead, or to show off the best of their produce. Inventors marked their tables with prayers to Aditi and then put their latest experiments on display. The smell of sweets wafted through the air so that the entire excursion felt pleasant and light.

The night market was lesser known, or at least, its appeal was less wide. It was only open once a week, and any attempts to add to it had been quickly shut down by Gillamer’s alderman, who couldn’t quite manage to shut down the night market for good. Parents warned children to stay away from the night market, that there were tricksters and fae and witches who would steal them away for simply glancing at their merchandise.

They were right — about all but the child theft (usually). But that was what made it exactly Nissa’s kind of place.

Under a canopy of stars, sorcerers demonstrated their latest, most colorful spells — often more for show than for function. It was the show that drew customers in to learn about the more useful spells. Young girls purchased tonics for their amorous adventurers, whether to make themselves more appealing in the eyes of their lovers or to protect themselves from pregnancy.

Nomadic minstrels played their newest songs with their winningest smiles directed at the prettiest customers, while inventors captured those songs in a bottle to be played at inns and taverns later, no minstrels required. Occasionally a fight broke out between the two, just to make things interesting.

And there were fae. More fae even than Nissa had seen during her time in Edrait. They would be regarded warily and mistrusted at the traditional market, but here no one was fully regarded with trust, so elves and centaurs, imps and the like were welcome to make their deals with desperate or curious customers or merely to enjoy the revelry. Here, no one looked at Nissa’s short tapered ears and mistook her for an elf. They could tell the difference.

At the Night Market, it was just as common to dance through the aisles as it was to stroll them, glittering in the surrounding sorcery and the taste of potential in the air. Every mortal at the night market was so eager for a taste of magic that their faces shone…and so did their coins.

Nissa wasn’t sure there was anywhere in the world that made her happier, and that was a rare truth about herself. She would have enjoyed merely attending, but she didn’t hate working it, either. She sat underneath a beautifully painted (if she could say so herself) purple sign that read, “Madame Ja’ella Sees All” with a price point just a hair below Madame Tasaria’s across the way. The apostrophe in the name had moved once or twice over time, but the mere presence of it added to her mystique.

If she was smart about it, fortune telling required no magic at all. As long as she paid attention to the person in front of her, she could get a sense of what they wanted to hear. The boy with the pale cheeks whose eyes drifted away from Madame Ja’ella’s gown to the girl shopping at the flower stand across the way wanted to know that his love was returned. The inventor with no smudges on her hands wanted to know that she would find inspiration over a quiet lunch next week. The middle aged bachelorette wanted to know that she would live to a ripe old age surrounded by her children. It was easy money. Sometimes she was even right, though it was purely by accident.

Design was everything, though. That was what reeled people in, and Nissa loved a good, cohesive aesthetic. Her cards were self-made, painted with purple water colors but laced with gold filigree so that they looked both ethereal and regal. Her crystal ball was in fact crystal, nicked at a fancy dinner party just before she left Ostheather, and she kept it polished. Her wig of long, reddish brown curls looked almost real.

Her rival, Madame Tasaria had a louder voice, experience, and a way with words. She paid urchins to run throughout the market and tell others about her connection to the netherworld and the secrets it whispered to her. But her plain table and faded supplies were lost under the moonlight. Nissa had no interest in falling to the same fate.

She was, however, very interested in the girl who had just passed Madame Tasaria’s table. She was clearly a wilder. Her skin was albino white, a stark contrast to her eyes the color of the sun. Her hair was deep purple and fell loose to her shoulders, but when it was brushed back in the breeze, Nissa saw white petals sprouting from both sides of the girl’s neck. She wondered how much it must itch or whether it hurt if one of the petals were plucked.

She wondered so much that the the girl almost passed her by. She didn’t linger on anything, wholly unconcerned with what happened around her. But her step slowed just enough when her eyes fell on Nissa’s pretty booth. Not enough to stop, but enough to be curious.

“Care for a glimpse into your destiny?” Nissa called.

The girl stopped. Something flashed in her fiery eyes. She walked over to Nissa’s booth slowly, placing a hand on the crystal ball. Her nails were kept short with a bit of grime beneath them, though nothing Nissa hadn’t seen before. “How much would that glimpse cost me?”

“For you?” Nissa grinned and pushed her curls over her shoulder flirtatiously. “I’ll give a discount. Seven cogs and a few moments of your company.”

The girl raised an eyebrow and tilted her lips down. “Your discount sounds more like an up-charge.”

“As clever as your aura is bright.” Nissa laughed, a real one. She already liked this girl. “Sit. Madame Ja’ella has already seen that you will do so.”

The girl lifted her hand off the crystal ball and crossed her arms. Nissa worried for a moment that she had overstepped with that trick. But then the girl shrugged, though she looked no more pleased than before. “Why not?”

She flipped the tails of her coat in a way that made Nissa like her even better as she sat. The coat was nice, but it didn’t quite fit her — the sleeves came up a little short, and it was too tight to button. Nissa held out her hand.

“I don’t need the cards to tell me that there’s greatness in store for you. A palm reading will be far more helpful to see the particulars.”

The girl’s hand, while alabaster pale, was surprisingly warm. Warm like her eyes. The sleeve of her shirt slipped back, revealing dark, jagged lines along her arm. Charred like burns, but flat like a natural extension of her skin. Under the starlight, Nissa saw slight flecks of red.

She ran a finger along the girl’s palm, slowly and flirtatiously. “I see a powerful lineage. And pride that comes with that power. You know you are not meant for small things, that you stand out from the crowd. You both love it and you hate it.” Nissa glanced at her cloak. “A taste for finery…but also independence. You wish to strike out on your own, find where you belong. You search for your true origins.”

“And will I find it?” the girl asked, eyebrow quirked in surprise.

Observations were easy. Predictions were a little trickier. They required knowing what the person wanted to hear (something Nissa was particularly skilled at) and good luck (something that did not always seem to favor Nissa). Then again, sad though it might be in the case of this girl, Nissa often never saw her customers again, so if she was wrong, it was little risk to her.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, clutching the girl’s warm hand. “You will find what you seek,” she said with a dramatic gasp, snapping her eyes open. “Though it may not be in the way you expect it. It is hidden in plain view of the familiar you’ve always known.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “The hunchbacked housemaid in my family’s home…the one who cared for me when I was a baby?” This was trickier still. Nissa nodded. Sometimes the customer did all the work themselves. “She really is my mother, then?”

“My vision is often distorted,” Nissa said with a helpless sigh. “Fate will keep her mysteries, even from those she gifts. But it is possible. I see that a conversation will not go amiss.”

“But how can that be?” the girl asked. “Since she’s not able to speak?”

Nissa was beginning to feel a good amount of sympathy for this housemaid…and more for herself. “There is more than one way to have a conversation. You must converse in a way that she can reach, rather than expecting her to come to you.”

The girl nodded, processing the information slowly. Finally, she said, “May I ask one more question?”

“As many as you like.”

“You never asked my name. I can only assume it’s because fate has shown it to you. Can you tell me what it is?”

Oh, she was good. Nissa was a skilled liar herself and she thought she was good at reading people, and she had to appreciate someone who had even her going. She scrambled to try to think of another way around this.

“I see only the answers to the questions on your heart. Your name is not among them.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide, though?” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing knowingly. She had dropped the curious facade entirely, leaving only the fiery girl who knew she had won. “Madame J?”

Nissa’s hackles rose for just a moment. “Who are you? What brought you here?”

The girl leaned back and crossed her arms. “Some psychic you are.”

But then she laughed and loosened her posture, leaning an elbow on the table and her chin against her fist. “Really, I just wanted to see how far you would go before giving up. I assume I don’t owe you a cog, since I was promised a glimpse into my destiny, and all you did was spew some bullshit based on my appearance. If you want the truth, I have no family. Haven’t for as long as I can remember, and I’m certainly not interested in finding anyone. I don’t even care about finding my ‘destiny,’ so no hurt feelings there.”

Nissa leaned back and put her hands together. “Well played. The pleasure was mine, really, provided you don’t spread the word throughout the market.”

The girl who remained nameless smirked. “And what if I do?”

Nissa shrugged. “You could, I suppose. And I suppose there might be some fine gentleman looking for his coat somewhere and he might appreciate a helpful seer who can tell him where to find it.”

The girl’s smirk faded to a look of flat displeasure. “He knows where to find it. And he won’t come after it.”

“Oh, he knows where to find it,” Del said. “And he won’t come after it.”

Nissa had never been so delighted in her frustration with someone. “You still haven’t told me your name. Or would you still like me to guess it? Ember, perhaps?”

The flat look turned now onto her, the eyes giving the full burn. “No.”

Nissa held up her hands. “Your call. At any rate, it’s always nice to meet another wilder.”

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Not at all. All sincerity.”

“I don’t think you have a sincere bone in your body,” she snorted. “And I know what a wilder looks like. You’re lucky I don’t give a fuck about any of that business. Others might take offense.”

Nissa bit back her own hurt feelings. It was an understandable response. “Not everything is what it seems, least of all me. I can call my sprite to me in an instant. I’ve yet to see yours..”

“Good for you,” the girl said tightly. She stood. “We’re done here. Feel free to delude others all you like, but keep your own delusions to yourself.”

Nissa watched as she pulled her coat tighter against the chilly, dry air and left. She watched so intently that she almost missed the wrinkled man in an oversized hat and a bouquet of flowers making his way over to her booth. He didn’t even sit before he began to ask questions about the faithfulness of his paramour. Nissa pulled her attention to him, reluctantly, for just a moment, and when she looked back, the girl was gone.

“Yes, of course he loves you,” Nissa assured him dismissively. “No, he doesn’t mind your age in the slightest. He only minds the feeling of missing you. You should go to him now.”

The zest was gone from the game for the night. Every other customer was too easy, and she realized it had been far too long since someone had seen through her bullshit and called her out on it so easily. She put up a sign that read “consulting the stars” and left the booth, whether to look for the girl or just to see the market as a patron.

She didn’t have much time to do either before a flitting shadow caught the corner of her vision. She stiffened just slightly, hoping it wasn’t enough to be noticeable, and she continued to move through the aisles. As she did, the shadow followed. Finally, she turned just enough to see a slight woman with a long, dark ponytail and a familiar brand on her arm, suddenly pulled into a conversation with an aggressive troubadour.

She took the chance, not even stopping by her booth to collect her things. She had left more behind in the past, and she could find it again. Instead she walked as briskly as she could out of the market and in the direction of the inn.

It was times like these when she thought briefly about casting a spell to help hide her, or at least distract the woman with the dark ponytail. But knowing herself, she was only likely to draw more attention that way — and probably break something. Instead, a storm rumbled overhead. She glanced up and blew a kiss to a particular storm cloud, one with outstretched wings like a bird. Then she tossed her wig, pulled up her hood, and picked up her pace to a run as the rain started to pour.

The Nightingale Inn was blessedly busy — it was the perfect time of night for drinking, and any musicians who couldn’t find an audience at the night market had made their way here to weave through the tables or simply drown their sorrows. Soaked though she was, few patrons gave more than a passing glance to Nissa as she hurried through the hall and up the stairs to her room.

She piled all her clothes into a bag, a few books, and a box of other disguises. She glanced at the fine sheets on the bed. She had been so happy to treat herself after a recent score. She might as well take a memento with her. She peeled them off and stuffed them into her bag as well. Nothing she hadn’t needed to do before.

When she turned around, she saw the woman from the market leaning against the wall beside the door, cleaning her nails with a small knife. She glanced up at Nissa casually, who let out a soft, “Fuck.” She had forgotten to close the door behind her.

“Leaving town already?” the bounty hunter asked. “I’m told you have a job to finish here.”

“Wereyou?” Nissa asked. “Well, it didn’t work out. The alderman threw me out before I could get any closer to the bell. These things happen. Figured I should know when to cut my losses.”

“Funny. The alderman seems to have misplaced his bell all the same, and so soon as he misplaced his sweet new assistant.”

“Well, you know, there’s always a risk with high profile prizes like that,” Nissa laughed, backing towards the window. “My regrets to your employer.”

The bounty hunter was faster. She was on Nissa in a moment, pushing her up against the wall, knife to her throat. The blade was still dusted with flecks of dead skin and dirt from the nail cleaning.

Nissa squirmed. “If you kill me,” she gasped, finding it difficult to breathe without cutting herself, “I can’t tell you where to find it.”

“If you don’t tell me,” the bounty hunter said, “then I have no reason — and no instruction — to keep you alive.” She grinned just a little. This was not a bounty hunter who would be wracked with guilt over the decision.

“Well, that puts us in an awkward position.” Nissa shrugged with her shoulders pressed against the wood paneling.

The bounty hunter hesitated, pushed the knife in just enough to nick her, then backed away. “Fine,” she said. “You have five minutes.” 

“Well, it’s not here. So this would be a pretty disappointing job for you if you had to kill me before you got to it.”

The bounty hunter considered this, knife tapping against her cheek. This was just another job on her long list of jobs, and the Dekkel was quite a choleric employer, Nissa knew from experience. Would it be more efficient to be done with it now and face hell for it later or to take another few minutes and be able to fully check this one off the list?

“Alright.” She shrugged. She returned to Nissa, wrapping an arm around her and pressing the knife to her side beneath her cloak. “Take me to it. Now.”

“At this hour?” The bounty hunter shot her a look that said not to press her luck.

Nissa led her out of the inn and began a trek down the now damp street, around the market to the quieter areas outside of downtown. She walked slowly, and the bounty hunter noticed, because the knife hugged Nissa’s waist a little tighter.

Nissa grimaced.

“You know what he wants it for, right?” Nissa asked. “He’s going to use it force that poor girl to marry him. She’s already rejected him thrice.”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “It’s not up to me what he does with it once he has it.”

“How dully nihilistic of you,” Nissa retorted, rolling her eyes.

“Spare me. You didn’t take it because you wanted to save some strange girl. You have your own reasons for it.”

“Can’t it be both?” Nissa argued. “I don’t like the idea of anyone in a cage.”

The bounty hunter gave no answer.

They reached the end of the street and Nissa looked down both ends. The bounty hunter looked at her expectantly. “Which way?”

She was about to say that she was trying to remember, or that she had approached it from another angle the day before, or that it all looked so different at night. But the sound of chaos coming from behind them stopped her from having to make a decision.

First, it was the grinding crack of pavement, accompanied by shouts and shrieks. All distant, out of sight. Nissa felt the ground beneath them shake a little, as if a carriage were passing. Then it was so violent that she stumbled, reaching out for the nearby building. The bounty hunter loosened her hold on Nissa, just a little. Nissa wrapped an arm around her, as if to catch herself. They both ducked.

They seemed to miss the worst of it. The ground shook around them and dust showered from the nearby buildings. A street sign sank into the ground. But no deep fissures appeared, shaking them into the earth. Fault lines cracked around them, and one through them that never quite deepened. And then, after half a minute, it was over.

The bounty hunter just barely started to lift her head to get a sense of what was happening. Nissa took the opportunity to grab the knife and pluck it from her hand. She pushed the bounty hunter back, causing her to fall on a bit of uneven pavement.

The bounty hunter started to snarl, but Nissa was already turned and running, fast as she could. She put some distance between herself and the bounty hunter, but the other woman was faster. She was trained to be, after all.

The sky rumbled as Nissa’s storm cloud trailed behind her. As the bounty hunter stood up to begin to chase after her target, lightning struck the ground in front of her, deepening a scar left by the earthquake. Nissa ducked around the building and took a few more turns for good measure. It was harder to run in the earthquake’s aftermath, but if it was hard for her, it would be hard for the bounty hunter.

She reached into her pouch and wrapped her hands around the warm bell still resting there. As if she was ever going to let the Dekkel have that, no matter how much he’d paid her.

Running back downtown would be a mistake. Back to the market, she’d only find other bounty hunters. So when she heard the sound of screams again, rather than running from it, she found herself running towards it. What she found there was fire.

Not a serious fire, one that posed a threat to anyone. A wooden sign advertising the inn behind it that had caught fire and a crowd of the innkeeper and nearby spectators was gathered around. A girl had fallen to the ground, palms spread across the pavement as she backed away while the innkeeper shouted at her. Not just any girl. The girl from the market.

Now Nissa understood what she meant about her sprite. Her sprite was a fire. No wonder. But the girl, likewise, had not seen Nissa’s sprite.

The lightning struck again, not close enough to hurt but close enough to send the others cowering back. Rain poured down on the sign, putting out the fire. In the chaos, Nissa reached forward and grabbed the girl by the wrist.

The girl jerked. “Don’t!” Her voice was shrill with fear, quite unlike the cool girl at the market. Nissa continued pulling her away until she realized that fire didn’t follow them and started running, too.

The storm trailed behind them. “Did you do that?!” the girl shouted, sputtering in surprise.

Nissa laughed. She’d told her she was a wilder. “ _Now_ will you tell me your name? Even a fake one.”

“Why?” The girl slowed as they hid around the corner, panting to catch her breath.

“Because I need to get out of town,” Nissa said. “And it looks like you do, too.”


	3. Del

Del woke from another nightmare to find a pattern of charred holes in the sheets, scarring the mattress beneath. She sat up quietly and sighed. When the priests saw that Del had burned through their beds, she and Nissa would probably have to find another place to stay. Then again, maybe they would just think it was some fascinating quirk that came with being a wilder. A blessing, even.

She rolled her eyes at the thought.

Nissa had brought them to the temple of Osena, goddess of medicine, claiming to be a priestess of Alorr. She even had the robes ready, and Del knew enough not to ask where she got them. She claimed she was escorting Del, whom she claimed was a chosen sovereign of Yullar, making a journey through the neighboring countries to get a sense of the world around her before she took her throne.

“She was raised on a farm near the elf wood, far away from the troubles of court,” Nissa had explained to the priest who received them. She even put on a lilt of a Yullar accent. “But when the Lord of Nature calls us, what can we do but answer?”

The priest was young enough to still have pimples, and Del doubted he knew anything about the political climate of Yullar. His eyes went wide at the story, and he showed them moments later to a hastily cleared away room.

“I think this might be his room,” Nissa had grinned once the door closed behind them.

“That’s a little over the top, don’t you think?” Del had asked. “You could have just said I was a priest in training or a traveling companion.”

“Where would be the fun in that, sweet? Besides, people love to believe the dramatic. If you go over the top enough, they’ll believe you must be telling the truth, because why would you make it up?”

Del thought that if Nissa had pedaled that story to her elsewhere, she would have laughed her out. But her methods seemed to be effective on others.

Del had made it clear that she wasn’t going to share a bed with her, and argued that if the temple believed her to be the future sovereign of Yullar, the priest escorting her would surely offer to sleep on the floor. Nissa had countered that, as a show of compassion, the future sovereign would have allowed her faithful escort extra blankets for her comfort, and Del, who preferred to sleep on top of the sheets, anyway, obliged.

Nissa stirred in her sleep, cocooned in blankets so that only a few of her wild black curls peeked out. No sooner had Del moved towards the closet than the cocoon lifted off the floor and fell onto the bed with a flop, not bothering with — or likely even noticing — the scorch marks.

Despite herself, Del smiled as she pulled on her shirt and vest. Then, making sure that Nissa was turned in the other direction, she slowly slid out her small traveling pack and carried it with her silently as she made for the door.

She had been on the run with Nissa for three days, ever since the earthquake at Gillamer. It was easier than running on her own, sure. It was even fun. Nissa wasfun. But it wouldn’t last. A quick, quiet exit was better than an inevitable combustion. She knew Nissa would do the same as soon as she could.

She stopped in the dining hall first, lulled by the scent of bacon and eggs. “Chosen Delia!” called that same pimple-faced priest, Hanith. He was seated at a table, and several of the other priests looked up at the excitement in his voice. She ignored them all and eventually, they looked down and whispered in embarrassment, not angry but sorry for bothering her. She piled on breakfast food to bury her guilt and gave them a wave as she left the room, scarfing bacon into her mouth.

Once she finished her plate, she left it on a chest in the hallway and lifted her hood to cover her hair and petals. She didn’t want to be stopped or particularly noticed on her way out. She kept her eyes peeled for any possible interruption, but didn’t linger at first near the sounds of conversation coming from the slightly ajar office door.

The first voice sounded shaky with age and slow. “I am afraid I can’t do much for you in the way of finding this Edana…though there is a draughtmaker in Rimebarrow who might…”

“I don’t care about that.” The second voice was young and impatient. “I just wanted to know if you’d heard any other cases of people losing their sprites.”

Del stopped. She walked back until she reached the other side of the door, enough to listen, and to catch a glimpse of the pair talking.

Within was very old priest with hair like browning pine nettles and a young woman with a…hog, apparently. Del could only see the back of the woman, but she was decked out like a hunter, a quiver at her shoulder and leathers that looked a little worn. Her brown hair was short, barely gracing her neck, and choppily cut.

“Yes, a terrible thing,” the priest said. “Terribly sorry for your uncle. Not in the least bit surprised that he’s struggling to heal.”

“But how does that happen?” the hunter asked. “Do you see it often here?”

“No, no. Never. I’ve never heard of such a thing. It would have to have been quite a powerful force, to overcome the nature itself within the wilder. I’m sorry, young lady. I wish there was more I could do for you.”

“Do you think…” Here the hunter hesitated, and Del thought she might give up the attempt altogether. “Do you think there’s a chance that the sprite is still alive?”

“Hmm. Anything is possible, I suppose,” the priest said. “Sprites are a part of that elemental heritage, and elementals are native to Trialar. If your uncle seems to believe that his sprite can be found in Trialar, maybe it went there after the severance as a matter of self-preservation. An elemental might be able to tell us, but of course…”

“There are no more elementals on Loshea,” the hunter cut him off again, her voice flat. “Thank you. You said something about a draughtmaker is in Rimebarrow?”

“Oh, yes. Innis Rehn.” His trembling voice raised. “But I don’t see how this Edana person, even if you find her, will be able to get to Trialar.”

The door swung open and Del jumped back as the hunter pushed out, her hog following behind her. Del caught a sight of freckles on her face and eyes that looked like they belonged to an animal, as well as two lumps on her head that looked like small horns.

The paid her little mind as she pushed past her. Del gave only enough time for her to round the corner, and then hurried back up the stairs to the room.

Nissa was still in bed. She peeked her head out from underneath her cocoon when Del nudged her shoulder.

“Wake up,” Del said. “We have to leave.”

“Why, who is it?” Nissa mumbled, shaking her head to wake herself up further.

Del rolled her eyes. “No, we’re not running from someone. We need to follow someone.”

Nissa sat up and blinked. “Well, that’s new.”

“There’s a hunter downstairs,” she said. “Another wilder. She’s heading for Rimebarrow.”

Nissa wrinkled her nose. “Rimebarrow sounds dull.”

“It is,” Del said. It was the first place she remembered living, not that she remembered much of it. “But the hunter…she’s searching for her uncle’s severed sprite.”

Nissa’s eyes widened. She shuddered a little. “That can happen?”

“Apparently.”

Nissa let the blankets fall around her shoulder as she searched Del with her sparkling brown eyes. “That’s very sad, but why does it matter to you?”

Del feigned insult. “Could it not just be a general sense of goodwill and desire to help?”

Nissa laughed, and that was enough of an answer.

Del sucked in a breath and shoved a hand through her hair. She couldn’t explain it to Nissa. Nissa, who loved being a wilder. Nissa who didn’t wake up to burnt bedsheets.

“I want to know what’s going on with her uncle,” she said. She knew it was inadequate, so she added. “And I’m going whether you come with me or not. It’s just I’m not sure I can convince her to let me tag along…”

“So you thought a helpful priest might.” Nissa grinned. “Say no more.”

She dropped the blankets and reached into her pack to withdraw a slim, starry dress over which she pulled her verdant green robes. There was no need for the dress, since no one would see it, but Nissa liked it. And it was nice, nicer than someone who was so often on the run should have.

As she pulled the robe over her head, nodded at the pack over Del’s shoulder. “Lucky you’re already packed, huh?”

Del set her jaw, flushed red, and said nothing.

The hunter had already left and had a lead on them, but the road was a direct one and easy to follow north, towards Rimebarrow. “Don’t you have anything to make us move faster?” she asked. “Bespelled boots or a storm to slow her down, maybe?”

Nissa shrugged and smiled. “Do you?”

Del responded with a grumble as they moved on. Up ahead, she could see the form of the hunter and her hog. She pointed. “That’s her.”

Nissa took her in. “Hunter’s right. And a woodsy girl at that. Hello there!” She picked up her pace as she called out.

The hunter slowed her step for a bit, but didn’t turn around before she continued walking.

“Yes, I do mean you!” Nissa called again, undaunted. “There are only three of us on this road.”

The hunter turned towards them, her cheeks somewhat reddened. She regarded them with confusion, embarrassment, and possibly suspicion as Nissa and Del closed the gap between them. Her hog moved in front of her protectively.

If she was a couple years older than Del, her freckles made her look younger. Her eyes, though not large, captivated attention: amber with vertical slits for pupils and no whites to be seen. And there were two small lumps near the forefront of her head, small horns just growing in.

She looked as though she might have told them to leave her alone, but she took another look at Nissa in her priest’s robes. She swallowed and loosened her stance, humbly. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Nissa nodded in a way that Del thought she must have considered sage. “On the contrary, sweet. My companion and I hoped we might help you.”

The hunter’s boar bristled.

“Help me with what?” she asked, as guarded in expression as with words.

“My name is Tefria,” she said, never one to go for something ordinary. “I’m a priestess of the church of Alorr, the Steward of All Nature. My companion here…” she gestured.

“Del,” she said quickly, cutting off any chance to become Delia again. Nissa gave her a small glance, but not enough to break character.

“Yes, Del, well, she heard you talking to the father at the Osena temple about the horrible situation with your uncle.”

The hunter crossed her arms and looked at the two of them, particularly Del.

“Don’t be upset with her,” Nissa said quickly. “She didn’t mean to overhear, but when she passed and heard the words ‘severed sprite,’ she thought it best to tell me. Sprites being severed from their wilders, well, that’s everything that Alorr stands against. We can’t just stand by and let that happen.”

The hunter was quiet, considering. Then she said, “Have you heard of others?”

Nissa started to open her mouth and Del shook her head just slightly.

“Very few,” Nissa amended. “But it’s always a tragedy when it happens. If we can do anything to help reunite your uncle with his own sprite, I think that would please His…Divine Wildness very much.”

The hunter raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, but I have it under control.” She began to turn around.

Nissa shrugged in resignation, and Del looked at her pointedly. She rolled her eyes and took a few more steps forward. “The truth is…” she said. For a moment, Del thought lightning might strike.

Sure enough, the hunter paused.

“Well, the truth is I’m a bit new to the priesthood.”

Ah. That truth.

“An acolyte, really. Del here isn’t even fully settled on joining the church, so we’re not the most renowned emissaries. But I believe in what you’re doing. And, well, if I were to help you with it, and word got back to the church, maybe it would be enough to convince them that I’m serious.”

The hunter hesitated for a long time now, turning back to look at them.

Nissa swooped in again. “I’m sorry, we introduced ourselves, but we never got your name.”

Her voice was lower as she mumbled, “Promise.”

“Seriously?” Del snorted. Nissa elbowed her. “What kind of name is that?”

“It’s mine,” the hunter retorted. Even her freckles seemed to bristle. “Is that a problem?”

And however Nissa wanted her to be polite, Del laughed. “Even I can’t think of a nickname worse than that.”

Promise narrowed her eyes. “You asked to come with me. If you’re going to be like this the whole time, I can do it alone.”

“You’re right,” Nissa apologized hastily. “We haven’t slept well, so you’ll have to forgive my friend for her rudeness.”

Del shrugged, even as she kicked herself for making such an effort to scare off the people she actually needed. She wasn’t sure why she did it. Promise’s hog turned around first, and then Promise. They started to walk away, and Del, giving up, had decided to let them.

“If you slow me down, I won’t wait for you,” Promise said.

Del grabbed Nissa’s hand to hurry after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The last chapter I'll post. Thank you so much again to everyone who read it. If you want to hear more about how Fox Eyes is going, check me out at http://tieflingish.tumblr.com or @thetomatowriter on Twitter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's been a while since I've used this account for actual writing. Thanks for checking out my original fiction! I intended to post this on my writeblr, but figured given the length, it would be easier to read on here. 
> 
> This is my heart story, and I do plan to eventually (after rigorous editing) try to publish it, so for that reason, I'm not comfortable sharing it in its entirety. But I was so excited that I wanted to publish the first three chapters as an introduction to the characters and what they're trying to accomplish. If you want to hear more about Fox Eyes, I post excerpts and occasional gushings on Tumblr at http://tieflingish.tumblr.com, as well as on Twitter at @thetomatowriter. 
> 
> Big thanks to my DM/CP/best friend who gave Promise a magical girl story in D&D and made me kind of want to give her one in my own writing, and who has listened to me ramble about this project since November. I'm not gonna call her out so she can maintain plausible deniability, but she knows who she is.


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